A Couple of Goths
by UndeadRelations
Summary: When Pete (red goth) goes off to his conformist college a lonely Micheal (curly/tall goth) is left to cope. Will their friendship progress or stagnate? Pete/Micheal Rated M for eventual boylove/smut Fanfic playlist: /heathorsmash/a-couple-of-goths 3 songs per chapter
1. Chapter 1: Supersede

Disclaimer: While I do not own these characters or the town of South Park, I did conceive of the story which is thus my intellectual property. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Supersede

It wasn't as if Pete had a particular interest in trying to look more feminine, he had just been obsessive about his complexion as of recent. Having graduated high school Pete was hanging out with Micheal to welcome the beginning of summer who sat cross-legged on the floor of his purple carpeted bedroom. Micheal had dropped out years ago and spent the majority of his time working in his mom's arts and crafts store or hanging around in the darkness of his room. He went to adult education classes in the evening so that he could pass the test to earn his GED after realizing that working in the family business was not the only job he wanted to have for the rest of his life. Pete had been quietly insistent that he do so as well, especially since he'd be going off to college within the following year. He didn't want his best friend's life to dead-end and for them to grow into the solemn, boring conformists their parents had become.

Clutching the folding mirror in one hand and a powder application pad in the other, Pete blotted his cheek with the pale powder. He kept going over the pockmarks as if he could rub them away only to cake the foundation on.

"Give me that," Micheal demanded in monotone. Pete snapped the compact shut and tossed it over to Micheal in frustration, a scowl plastered to his face. Scooting closer, Pete flicked his head to the side to get the hair from his eyes.

Still getting a grasp on the whole makeup thing, Micheal watched Pete struggle through its application during the previous week. The heavy eyeliner was one thing, but trying to evolve himself in preparation to go away to college was another task altogether. With his later teens, Pete had gotten his rampant acne under control, but the scar tissue on his cheeks still speckled his complexion. Micheal, being curious, had even tried to put on the full face of makeup himself as Pete had done but didn't find it pleasing. He felt like one of those gussied up ugly prostitutes who tried their best to cover their unpleasant facial structure with inadequate means. Not matter how much shit Micheal smothered on his skin, it wouldn't mask the strong build of his nose.

Micheal had hoped this was just another of Pete's sporadic obsessions which withered away in a month due to his indecisive nature. But today Pete wasn't laying it on so heavily and had even found the right foundation to match his skin tone. Micheal wiped away the caking of inconsistent powder Pete had applied in frustration with a damp wash cloth, then patted the cheek dry. He gently applied the stuff and though it didn't completely fill in the scarred craters in Pete's cheek, the blotched fading pink became one smooth color as though the scars had finished healing. He took the large application brush to smooth over the powder and blend it into Pete's natural skin so there was no evident border.

"There," Micheal said in finality, passing the hand mirror beside him over to Pete. He lifted it to peer at himself and his expression softened as he swooped his hair to the side to get a better view.

"Oh," Pete said softly. This time there was no awkward line along his jaw of miscolored foundation too orangy against the white of his neck. Even the slight natural pink of his cheeks was concealed which made his eyes the only real color of his features. Pete smiled then glanced up at Micheal who eyed him with that flat expression. "Thanks," he added before rising quickly to his feet to cross the room to the hair straightener which had just beeped behind him.

In truth this makeup thing kind of suited Pete after all, he just hadn't been doing it right the first couple of times. Micheal was a little conflicted. He'd felt himself drawn to cute guys in school for their external appearance on a purely aesthetic interest, but their personalities repelled him. The closest he'd come to really liking someone in a romantic sense had been little Firkle when the kid grew up. He had kind of retained his baby-faced appearance and Micheal found himself drawn to the adorable teen until he turned into kind of an asshole. Or perhaps he'd always been an asshole and it just took Micheal too long to realize it. Either way the kindergartener of their group once upon a time ago had fallen into a trendy crowd in his age group come middle school. They were the "hardcore" kids, listening to intense screaming noise that absolutely drove Micheal up the wall and their friendship had broken. Pete still talked to Firkle every once in a while.

Micheal watched Pete finish straightening his hair for the second time today then line his eyes. Finally he sat back down.

"Come here," Micheal said without really thinking as he picked up the watermelon chap stick he bought when they went out to Sally's earlier that day. He popped the cap off as Pete leaned toward him expectantly; sharing the application of makeup had been commonplace ever since they discovered Pete's mother's eyeliner in youth. Micheal brought the stick to Pete's lips to coat them carefully, his slight compulsive nature kicking in, as he eyed his movements closely. The sweet watermelon smell pleasantly graced Micheal's senses as he capped the tube and sat back to look over his work.

"Oh," Micheal said quickly as he lifted a hand to wipe along the underside of Pete's lower lip where he'd gone over the natural pink edge. Conscious of his actions, Micheal pressed a little more roughly than necessary, so that it would be taken as an afterthought, not as potential flirtation. He sat upright again and met Pete's eyes. Perhaps a slight sheen to his lips made Pete look a little too feminine for the taste of the mass public, but it was certainly flattering in that moment.

"Let me see," Pete said as he lifted the mirror again. He grinned more fully this time, the kind of smile he made when he couldn't contain the happiness he felt with that dull facade. Then Pete hunched over a little, self-conscious in his apparent beauty, a gesture which he'd only recently exposed to Micheal as the anxiety of going away to school exposed him. Pete diverted his eyes.

He was so fucking cute.

Micheal leaned forward without thought, cupping Pete's jaw in one hand as he licked at the fruit gloss of his lips. Micheal's own lips closed into a kiss and Pete absolutely froze, his body ridged. As though he'd been burned, Pete gathered himself and shoved Micheal frantically all in an instant. Catching himself from falling backwards, Micheal watched Pete shoot to his feet as rage consumed his face.

"Why do you have to do faggoty shit like that!" Pete said quickly. Though he was attempting to yell, his voice was still soft, biting with tone rather than volume. It had happened a few times before when Micheal had gotten that intense urge to kiss someone and acted before he could really think about it logically. He'd kissed Pete when they'd been drunk at a party a few times, expecting him not to remember, then more recently as he watched his best friend grow into himself. "I'm out!"

Micheal got to his feet as his face betrayed his usually stoic expression and his eyebrows V-ed. Pete knelt on the floor to vigorously scoop his brand new makeup into its case then turned on his heels before Micheal could elicit a decent comeback. Storming over to where his straightener was plugged in, he yanked the chord from the wall before even turning it off. Throwing Micheal's bedroom door open Pete sped down the hall as the knob smacked the wall.

Hesitating, Micheal followed Pete but was yards behind him. When he got to the front door Pete was already to the other end of the driveway. All he could do was shout after him.

"Have fun going to college Peter! You fucking conformist!" Micheal yelled in frustration before slamming the door. "Dammit!" he said to himself. That wasn't what he'd meant to say at all! How fucking immature.

They'd fought like this a few times before and it was always over Micheal's careless romantic actions, but Pete always came back. They were best friends, how could he not come back?

But as the summer drew on, Micheal found that Pete didn't come back this time. He was busy moving to a college town just outside Denver to stay with his aunt, the enthusiastic woman who had helped him through the process of choosing a university. Consumed in his interests and direction in life, Pete sought out the new opportunities and interactions that lay before him rather than looking back.


	2. Chapter 2: Redirect

Chapter 2: Redirect

It wasn't for several months when Pete came back to visit his family that Micheal managed to see him.

It was the off season in his mother's art store so Micheal picked up a job at one of the two small convenience stores in South Park. He quickly found that without school or a job sitting at home with no obligations only lead to depression so he didn't mind finding a new place to work. Being a night owl, Micheal could work late hours, sleep in during the day, and live the schedule that suited him best. However, this same convenience store was the one he and Pete used to walk to to buy cigarettes since they were friends with one of the employees back in high school. It wasn't something that really crossed Micheal's mind when applying, it was just a familiar store where he'd be comfortable working.

One particular night, while he was restocking the cigarettes behind the front counter, Micheal turned to see a familiar face he hadn't expected. There stood Pete, second in line, looking down at his shoes to divert his eyes from Micheal. The curly haired man behind the desk decided that if Pete wasn't going to look at him then he could use the chance to give his friend a look over.

Pete still had his hair dyed black but with only a few red streaks this time. The pock marks on his cheeks weren't discolored, so the curly haired man assumed he'd been applying the makeup all this time, but Micheal wouldn't have noticed otherwise. Micheal noted that Pete was sans chap stick this time. He wore a black short sleeved over shirt with a hood and zipper up the front over a red undershirt. Pete's black capries were rolled up above his knees with those familiar black shoes with the pointed toes. He'd obviously toned down from the style he wore in high school but he still looked goth in a subtle, slightly conformist sort of way. Pete's new style was kind of cute just because of who he was and the way his outfit outlined his trim body. Pete had thinned down a little too, perhaps from taking on a busier schedule than he'd had in the monotonous confines of South Park.

Then there were the small silver snakebites along Pete's lower lip which accentuated the glint of a small bead of his right nostril. That was new. Though Pete's lip had been down through early high school he had taken it out for a brief job at some point. The familiar piercings in Pete's ear which Micheal had done for him in middle school were even gauged.

Micheal's tummy ached in wonder because he had no idea what Pete had been up to and it hurt. Aside from the dress code he had to obey for the convenience store, Micheal hadn't really changed at all. He was the same tall, pasty guy with the sharp nose, bony features and naturally dark curls atop his head. Micheal fiddled with the register to hand back some change to the customer, his body on autopilot. As that man left, Pete came forward and Micheal felt his heartbeat pickup. For all the time they'd spent together growing up Micheal could guess what Pete was thinking and could probably be right but instead his mind whirled with anxiety.

"Hey. Can I get a pack of Newports?" Pete said with that familiar soft voice, tainted with nonchalance. If he felt any bit like Micheal did, he didn't show it, and that possibility of Pete being indifferent to his existence fucking hurt. Micheal nodded shortly in response then turned to grab Newports from the shelf. He returned to the register and as he punched in a few buttons he dared to say anything to break this silence between them.

"How's school?" Micheal asked lamely as he rang up the small box of cigarettes. _Way to be eloquent,_ he thought briefly.

"It's fine," Pete answered vaguely and he paused. "How's life?" he continued as if he was obligated to reciprocate.

"It goes," Micheal replied flatly. "Will this be all?"

"Yeah," Pete took out his coffin shaped wallet Micheal had gifted him in early high school and the curly man's heart ached a little. He handed a five across the counter and Micheal longed to hang out with his old friend in a rush of nostalgia.

"Do you have any free time while you're in town?" Micheal asked as he made change.

"No, I leave tomorrow morning on the bus," again Pete paused but this time in consideration. "I didn't have much extra time this trip," he added more gently, as though he regretted not being able to spend more time with Micheal. The tall man behind the counter smiled softly as he watched Pete sweep the black and red bangs from his eyes with his fingertips. Micheal closed the drawer and handed the receipt and change to Pete who he was pleased to see didn't leave right away.

"That's alright, maybe next time," Micheal responded with more bitterness than he intended.

"Yes," Pete agreed. Again he hesitated, but Pete finally looked Micheal in the eye as he spoke. "I'll be in town again in three weeks for Fall Break."

"See you then?" Micheal asked.

"Yeah," Pete said with a soft smile. Micheal looked after him as he turned for the door and the bell rang as he pushed it open. Then Pete turned back to wave gently at Micheal with that same smile, only this time it exposed an underlying melancholy that caught Micheal by surprise. Maybe Pete really did miss him too.

"Bye," Micheal mouthed as he rose his hand in response. He watched Pete through the large windows who paused just outside the building to cup his hands and light the cigarette he pursed between his lips. Micheal's eyes traced the familiar movement of Pete's casual stride until he went around the building and out of sight. Micheal wished he could walk Pete home and sighed. At least he could look forward to Pete's return. He smiled to himself, three weeks should go buy quick enough and another customer approached the counter. The rest of his night restocking the shelves and ringing up the occasional customer was filled with hopeful contemplation.

When those three weeks passed Micheal only managed to see Pete for a few hours and they just acted like they always had, although a little awkwardly. Micheal was disappointed their visit was so brief but pleased Pete took the initiative to tell him he was in town. With a taste of a visit from his best friend Micheal was confronted with the distance between them. When Pete expressed the convenience of having a page on a massive social networking site to keep up with family and friends, Micheal was hesitant and turned down the idea. What was more conformist that having a page on one of those sites?

For nearly a month Micheal longed to at least speak with Pete, but the shorter goth was busy with school and he thought he might be imposing to ask the two hours of time it would take them to talk to one another on the phone. After Pete repeatedly recommended Micheal sign up for his own page on that damned social networking site the curly haired man gave in.

"That way we can chat when I'm available online and you don't have to worry about interrupting my classes and club activities with texting," Pete had explained rather convincingly.

Micheal quickly found that their chat sessions at the end of each day lit up his world. Most everyone he knew in South Park his age had moved away to go to school or was a complete bumbling idiot, the likes of which drove Micheal up the wall. Pete was perhaps the only consistently positive, steady social interaction in his life. Not to mention there was always something new going on with Pete and Micheal thought his life paled in comparison.

Micheal even took to creating the little blurbs and doodle journals like what he'd created back in high school again. Despite how boring he found himself to be, the little bit of creating he did made Micheal feel a little more worthy of Pete who had always been a writer. Though their little group of goths had always written bad poetry back in elementary school, Pete found writing to be his passion. Micheal found himself living a little vicariously through the new things Pete was always doing or writing at school and he began to loath the uneventful confines of South Park.

Then Pete expressed the loneliness he experienced with having gone off to a school outside of his home town. Micheal was surprised to find that the quiet, though relatively sociable and interesting Pete found making friends difficult, and the curly haired man could sympathize with him. Perhaps Pete only seemed so open and friendly to Micheal because they'd known each other and been friends so long. Even though Pete was surrounded by others his age pursuing their passions he didn't feel there was much potential to any of them being friends. As Pete found Micheal to be his confidant all over again, the younger goth grew to expose a little more about his very personal relations. Micheal was a little surprised to learn that Pete had already dated or had flings with a couple of club attendees and classmates here and there. As Pete talked about a few vague experiences, Micheal listened with a subtle jealously, trying not to let the emotion flow over. Then Pete said 'he' and Micheal's eyes bulged.

Since middle school Micheal always expected that Pete was interested in both sexes at least, but he never dated and it made his orientation hard to discern for sure. Though hearing about Pete's social interactions made Micheal a little jealous, a light of hope gathered in him as he learned that Pete was indeed interested in men after all. His search for a partner was coming up empty handed and Micheal was even more reassured that perhaps Pete had already found his soul mate, he just hadn't realized who it was for sure. Micheal's tenancy to be a hopeless romantic consumed his writings and scribblings for the following month. It was a guilty pleasure he reassured himself he would never have to share with the rest of the world.

As Micheal expressed interest in Pete's everyday life, the younger goth asked him if he might be interested in paying the campus a visit. Trying not to make it obvious that he was jumping at he opportunity, Micheal responded with a passive 'Sure' and Pete with an 'Okay.'

Micheal was to take the bus in two weeks and he couldn't wait for the monotonous days to pass as he stood behind the counter of the convenience store.


	3. Chapter 3: Wistful

Wistful

When Micheal arrived in the college town Pete was there waiting for him at the station as he stepped off the bus. They got on the small trolley that ran through town, dropped off Micheal's bag in Pete's room in his aunt's house, then went on a walking tour of the college campus which was admittedly rather lovely at the end of March. Micheal and Pete walked through the blooming garden behind the library, their darkness contrasting with the colorful scenery.

"What would you like to do for dinner?" Pete asked Micheal who had just extracted a pack of cigarettes from the side of his small over the shoulder bag and was offering it to him. Micheal only shrugged in response; it wasn't as if he knew anyplace to eat in this town, and Pete responded shortly, "I quit." Micheal, his hand still extended, looked down at his pack of cigarettes with his own cig dangling between his lips in bewilderment.

"You quit?" he asked, looking back up at Pete as though he'd misheard him. The young man with the red streak only shrugged in response as Micheal finally lowered his hand and put the pack away.

"Trying to quit some bad habits," Pete finalized as Micheal brought his lighter to the tip of his cigarette, cupping his other hand around the flame that burst from it.

"Uh, alright," Micheal commented, resisting the urge to call Pete a conformist as he sucked in the chemical smoke and exhaled. Frankly, Micheal was beginning to grow frustrated that that same childhood mentality haunted him at times. The smoke hung around them briefly and Micheal couldn't help but notice when Pete tilted his head slightly toward the source of the smoke and inhaled deeply.

"Alberta's," Pete said suddenly and Micheal glanced at him, awaiting explanation.

When they got to Alberta's a diner with a few umbrella topped tables out front Micheal stepped ahead to open the door for Pete. Appreciating the gesture, Pete froze mid step in the front doorway, Micheal nearly walking into him. Turning sharply on his heels, Pete took Micheal's arm as he walked back out of the diner, dragging the tall, bewildered man in his wake.

"What was that about?" Micheal asked Pete who scowled at the question.

"I forgot it was my ex who originally showed me that diner," Pete said softly. "He was sitting in the back."

Micheal nodded, momentarily wishing he'd paid more attention to the people that were there for the split second he was too. Despite his nagging curiosity and the numerous questions that arose in his mind, Micheal resisted the urge to ask Pete about the relationship.

For two more blocks they walked in the opposite direction they'd come, talking briefly about an older goth band that broke up ten years prior who was going to be returning with new material. Pete gestured toward a small storefront with large glass display windows featuring bizarre and macabre items. The cafe very much appeared to be a dark hole in the wall and Micheal quickly approved. Admiring a metal bird in a bone birdcage, Micheal opened the door for Pete again who thanked him very quietly.

They sat at a two person table, Micheal in the chair and Pete in the booth seat as they raised their menus. A waitress took their orders then Micheal remembered something and unclasped his bag to shuffle around in it. Extracting a black notebook and a pack of pens, Micheal slid the items across the table as though he wanted to resist touching them.

"Fran insisted I give these to you," Micheal said, rolling his eyes slightly at the mention of his own mother. "I told her it was juvenile and that you only liked the gel pen on black paper thing back in middle school before it became a fad, but she wouldn't let it go." Micheal rested his chin on his hand and elbow on the table in slight embarrassment as he finished, "So here." He was a little surprised when Pete's eyes lit up with a nostalgic expression, chuckling gently through his flat composure.

"I kind of miss these," Pete said sheepishly, eying the glistening ink within the pens. He looked up at Micheal, "Tell your mom I said thanks."

Micheal wanted to tell Pete how he had found this old poem with doodles under his bed that he'd done back in middle school with the gel pen on black paper. After he hung it on his wall Micheal's mom happened to see it to the tall goth's dismay, and she decided Pete should be gifted the silly things despite his age. But Pete didn't need to know all of that, especially since the poem had been for a girl Pete admired that Micheal was suppose to deliver and kept for himself instead.

"Sure," Micheal returned, watching with slight envy at how unashamedly Pete could reveal his inner child at times.

After a few moments their food came out and a nagging pressed upon Micheal.

"Why did you break up?" he asked. Pete avoided his eyes, looking instead down at his food.

"Huh?" Pete asked, supposedly oblivious to the subject at hand.

"You and the Alberta's guy," Micheal said flatly. Pete's head seemed to dip a little so that his expression was concealed.

"E ldn't s a ndm," Pete said shyly.

"What?" Micheal asked, Pete talking too quietly for it to be audible.

"He wouldn't use a condom," Pete said, raising his head a little, deciding it was stupid to be shy about anything toward his best friend. "So I walked out," he finished, looking up into Micheal's face.

"Oh," Micheal said, his expression flat but his mind reeling behind his dark eyes. He could just imagine Pete and some faceless guy getting ready to have sex when the younger goth tears open a condom and the guy tells him not to use it. Then Pete gets up without a word while the guy has his dick sticking obscenely out of his trousers and watches as he walks out the door. Micheal wanted to clap and say 'good show' to Pete in a burst of enthusiasm for the red streaked goth standing up for himself. It wasn't as if Pete hadn't always been relatively outspoken, Micheal just couldn't anticipate how he'd be in that situation. That would be one less wrong man making moves on his best friend anyway, and that was something.

"It just reminded me of that girl back at South Park High who slept with her boyfriend and contracted Chlamydia or whatever it was. Then that rumor spread about how he refused to use a condom with her and they went and got married," Pete continued, shuddering at the mention of marriage more than the STD he'd never experienced first hand. "She acted like no one else would have her and that them sharing that disease alienated her, making them destined for each other. I don't know if she was just stupid, but I don't want to have ludicrous delusions like that over sex." Micheal nodded in understanding, having forgotten about that whole situation in high school and didn't even torture himself by conceiving Pete in that situation. After all, Kenny's girlfriend had been good on the eyes but not at all there. "Or anything for that matter," Pete said a moment later in finality.

That last sentence brought a touch of anxiety over Micheal. What else did Pete have that brought on ludicrous delusions in his life? Surely he wouldn't consider it a delusion if he ever considered that he and Micheal might be capable of a deeper relationship. Micheal sighed audibly.

"What is it?" Pete asked.

"Just relieved, that's all," Micheal said with a reassuring half-grin. It wasn't a total lie so he figured having supposedly sighed over it was reasonable. He could use a drink.

Stopping a waitress in passing, Micheal ordered a White Russian and Pete spoke up.

"Oh, and a Bloody Mary," and Micheal glanced up at Pete who smiled. "I forget about drinks sometimes," Pete admitted as the waitress walked behind the bar.

"My knees feel wobbly," Micheal said as he looked down at his clumsy stride.

"That was only one drink. Don't you drink anymore?" Pete asked.

"Not since you were home," Micheal answered and Pete looked down at his feet too. Recalling their last argument only briefly, Pete grew a little shy remembering it had been because Micheal kissed him again. Since then Pete had embraced that side of himself he'd been so nervous about throughout his youth, or at least as much as his somewhat introverted personality would allow. Moving to an entirely different town left him a new person surrounded by people who didn't know him. Though Pete had hoped to make countless friends and submerse himself in what would be his crazy college days, he found his personality maintained certain restrictions.

Pete indulged in romances conceived from joining clubs where he knew he'd meet like-minded people. Then he would suddenly stop attending the club altogether once the relationship went sour which was all too quickly for Pete's taste. These college kids lived in the moment, a mentality Pete had gotten over long before he graduated high school. Because he didn't want to come off as too edgy and turn people away, Pete never shared his taste in music or the macabre and let his goth side be just surface deep to those around him.

But Pete quickly grew weary of that delusion, and now he longed for something that wasn't so ephemeral. He found himself with little to talk about and wound up just seeming boring to everyone he met. Pete would come home and boot up his computer to find he did have someone to talk to after all, who knew everything about him and who would be interested in him no matter what. Pete remembered this same person walked beside him now, along the eight blocks or so it would take to get back to his Aunt's house.

Trying to make himself think nothing of it, Pete reached his hand out a little to the side and caught Micheal's. A little startled, Micheal's heart leaped as Pete took his hand and didn't release it. Though Micheal was briefly concerned that they were in public, he told his mind to shut the fuck up; it was night when they were only illuminated by occasional street lights and headlights, the sidewalks barren. Without a word they continued to walk.

Pete contemplated further, wondering why he'd been so hesitant to engage in a deeper relationship with Micheal. He supposed he didn't want to settle when there might be someone else out there, after all, what was the likelihood they belonged together after meeting each other in elementary school? Then he didn't want to deteriorate their best friend status with breaking up either, but Pete felt he was past this consideration.

Maybe he was hesitant because Micheal was even more boring than he was. Micheal dropped out of high school, but wasn't dumb, he just didn't like the social atmosphere and the idea of catering to the institutional structure. It just didn't work for him. And he earned his GED later of his own accord. Pete shrugged gently, passing off the thought line for something else. Pete would just run into a dead end thinking about things when he could have no power predicting the future; he'd just have to figure things out as they progressed just as he always had.

The next few days flew by and before Micheal knew it it was his last night sleeping next to Pete in his double bed before he had to catch the bus the next morning. Having a mixed drink or two that evening following dinner, Micheal lay there, slowly falling asleep as Pete timidly tried to snuggle up against him. Having assumed Micheal was already asleep, Pete was surprised and relieved when the curly haired man embraced him. It took Pete a while to fall sleep after his heart raced in his chest upon their contact, and all the while Micheal resisted the urge to kiss him. Convincing himself to take it slow so that he didn't scare Pete off, Micheal smiled into the darkness, lowering his head enough for the tip of his nose to brush his red streaked hair.

Micheal remembered back in middle school when Pete's mom and step dad were getting a divorce how the shorter goth had claimed he needed to be held to sleep and the taller had obliged. It was around that time Micheal realized the potential for them to be closer than friends and slowly his feelings for Pete escalated. As they dozed off to sleep, Micheal's mind envisioned them as those middle schoolers and the comfort they shared, remembering they were now adults and the same sensation took him.

The following day Pete and Micheal walked to the bus station early in the morning. Parting ways with a hug, Pete kissed Micheal on the cheek with a soft smile. Micheal watched Pete leave before the bus departed so that he could get ready for his Monday morning class. He couldn't wait to visit Pete again.


	4. Chapter 4: Night Light

Chapter 4: Compatibility

Pete and Michael walked to a college party down the street from his aunt's house where there were so many people everyone was let in, and it didn't matter if you knew anyone inside. As they weaved their way through the house several people recognized and drunkenly said hello to Pete. Along the way Michael and Pete loaded their arms with whatever drinks they can get their hands on and sneaked up the stairs. They made their way to the dark third story of the large house into an unlit, off-boundary room with a rooftop balcony where they laid down on cushioned sunbathing chairs.

Michael and Pete stared up into the sky, trying to ignore the thump of the unfamiliar mainstream club music from downstairs. At least it muffled the idiotic conversations and drunken yelling of the people in the backyard below.

"Wouldn't it be nice to just be consumed by that expanse of darkness," Michael said with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice as he waved his free hand across the sky. He drank from his cup as Pete chuckled at him.

"That was so poetic," Pete said as he glanced toward Michael and rolled his eyes. He dug in his pocket to take out his iPhone. "Check this out though," and he flicked and tapped his thumb expertly across the touch screen. Michael had never invested in such a nice cell phone, instead he relied on local routers to pick up the internet on his iTouch which was quickly becoming outdated. Not that he had anything better to spend his money on, and he shrugged off the fact he'd kind of just been piling up a savings with nothing better to do with his income. His thoughts cleared as Pete held his phone up to the night sky.

"Woah," Michael said, exposing his awe. "That's pretty sweet," he admitted as the touch screen displayed the constellation they were looking at. Pete moved it slowly across the sky just below the horizon. "You can even see what's on the other side of Earth?" Michael asked in wonder as the moon curiously came into view.

"Yeah, it says here the moon will rise in an hour," Pete said as he read the screen.

"An hour, I can do that," Michael said as he watched Pete continue to scan the other side of Earth for objects and eventually came across the International Space Station. "Hey, what's your zodiac sign again?"

"Oh man, you're not into that mass delusion about horoscopes are you?" Pete asked as he elbowed Michael with sarcasm in his tone.

"Of course I am," Michael lied. "What could be more relevant than random designs in the night sky determined by Earth's particular location in the galaxy and designated as significant by ancient humans for the specific reason of determining my future?" Michael said with as serious a face as he could muster but the corners of his lips turned upward as Pete laughed beside him.

"Virgo," Pete answered finally, still grinning gently as he leaned closer to Michael. He swung his arm around to find the constellation in the night sky before asking Michael, "What's yours?"

"Scorpio," Michael answered and again Pete skimmed the sky. When he stopped over the location of Scorpio Pete thought aloud.

"I wonder if we're compatible," Pete said without thinking twice about what he was insinuating. "Should I look it up?"

"Ten plus years of friendship seems compatible enough for me," Michael answered with stubborn resignation. Honestly he just didn't want to know just in case by way of the silly horoscope their star signs weren't compatible. Anything to plant the seed of doubt in his mind about whether he and Pete had a chance, no matter how illogical the inkling, was of no interest to Michael. Instead he decided to change the subject. "Why did you decide to go to college?"

"Because I had to get out of South Park," Pete answered slowly as he returned his phone to his pocket. "Aunt Helena provided the perfect escape plus the opportunity to keep learning." Michael remembered that unlike himself who read avidly about a lot of subjects outside of the school curriculum Pete had difficulty doing the same. School always gave him a reason to learn and for some reason Michael couldn't quite grasp why attaining grades was an adequate reason for Pete.

"But it's pointless, isn't it?" Michael asked, reverting to his nihilistic viewpoint of things. Pete shrugged at this.

"I guess so, but what better do I have to do with my time while I'm here? Resigning to the fact that our existence holds no intrinsic value is just kind of drab. I mean, I know whatever meaning we put into things is all just a humanist illusion, but still, I don't just want to give in to monotony of things. Creating and writing is what gives me what meaning I can take from things. I just want a reason to keep doing it really."

"Right," Michael responded as he thought about it. Pete was happy in his pursuit of honing his writing capability so really who was Michael to ask? The question he should have been asking was to himself and what he was going to do about his lack of satisfaction with his own life. After a long pause Pete considered what he might say next, knowing that Michael would be skeptical of his claims but may understand too.

"I feel like it gives me this opportunity to have influence, not to just exist. Like how you and I were shaped and molded by the poetry we read and the music we listened to. All of that came from someone else's mind, and I might be able to be one of those minds, you know?"

Michael nodded in response. Pete had indeed already influenced at least the one person sitting next to him, and this made sense to Michael after all.

"Anyway, not to go on about drunken philosophic banter," Pete laughed and they continued to talk into the night. Drinking quite some time after the moon rose over the horizon, Michael was startled when Pete suddenly leaped from his seat. He ran back inside, just making it to the toilet in time to spill his evening's spoils.

The Jagerbomb didn't sit so well with Pete, and as he vomited into the toilet, Michael couldn't help but stay back until his heaving was over or else he'd become nauseous himself. Finally, the retching came to an end after many minutes and Michael heard the toilet flush.

"Are you alright?" he asked, genuinely concerned as he stood in the doorway. At first Pete only groaned in response and Michael was worried he might not be finished throwing up after all.

"I just threw up black sludge," Pete answered miserably as he lifted his head from the toilet to look at Michael, "But I do feel a lot better."

"Think you have anything left that needs to come up?" Michael asked.

"No, but maybe I should stay here tonight just in case," Pete said, resting his chin sleepily on his arm which lay on the edge of the toilet seat.

"You're not sleeping in here all night," Michael argued as he knelt beside Pete. "Come on," he encouraged as he looped an arm under Pete's to help him up. The young man with red in his hair complied with little resistance other than his drunken clumsiness. Together they stumbled back into the stranger's bedroom, and Michael helped him sit on the edge of the bed.

"Ugh, my mouth tastes awful," Pete frowned with a sour face. He smacked his lips dramatically and Michael chuckled. Pete was so much more talkative when he'd had a few drinks.

"I'll go get you some water," Michael said before turning drunkenly for the bathroom again. As he stood at the sink to fill up the plastic cup that had previously contained beer, there was a mewling at the bathroom door to the hallway, and Michael opened it curiously. A small cat came up to rub himself against Michael's leg and kneeling down to pet the kitten.

"I'm busy taking care of _my_ kitten right now," Michael said to it as he scooted the little critter back out into the hallway. As he rose to head back to the bedroom a voice caught his attention.

"Who's your kitten?" Pete asked sceptically with his arms crossed, leaning against the doorway with his head tilted to see what the fuck Michael had been talking to. He saw nothing and chalked it up to Michael having had one too many. With a sly smile Michael walked past him toward the bed, passing the water to Pete on the way who followed, sipping carefully from the cup in his clumsy hand. He wound up drinking half the cup at once, realizing his thirst after having removed all of the liquid from his body. Pete sat on the bed next to Michael and there was a pause between them before Pete spoke.

"Who's your kitten?" He asked stupidly again, his mind in a weary drunken haze, this time more quietly as if he were considering whether or not he wanted to know the answer.

"You are, of course," Michael leaned toward Pete, swaying clumsily. He raised a hand to thoughtlessly brush back Pete's hair who held his breath.

"You're drunk," Pete pointed out quietly.

"Mm," Michael acknowledged as he nuzzled his nose into Pete's flower scented hair.

"You're going to make me spill my water," Pete complained as an excuse for Michael to not be so awkwardly close. Fumbling blindly between them for the cup, Michael took it from Pete to place on the night stand. Pete sighed as dark, soft curls brushed against the side of his face as he wrapped his arms around Michael. He had always shamelessly loved Michael's tight natural curls and being able to touch them intimately was exhilarating. Pete pulled the man on top of him as he lay back on the bed.

"Ouch,"Pete said quickly as Michael raised his head in curiosity. "You're hip bone is digging into my side," he complained as he reached down to take Michael's hip with a hand to shove him in a more comfortable position.

"Mm," was Michael's response again who leaned back into Pete's warmth. He rested his chin on Pete's shoulder, his lips close to Pete's ear. Somewhat startled, Pete could feel the outline of Michael's anatomy, too soft to be a hip bone, pressed against his thigh.

"M-Michael," Pete whispered nervously, but he got no response. Instead there was a soft, even breathing next to his ear and Pete sighed in frustration. Great.

There Pete lay, very gradually sobering up after the alcohol left his stomach, growing slightly aroused, wrapped in his best friend's arms and unable to move. He didn't want to wake Michael from his drunken sleep, both out of curtsy and Pete's anxious anticipation of how the situation might progress if he did. So he just stared at the ceiling until the remnants of his intoxication lulled him to sleep.

In the morning Pete awoke to the sound of loud voices coming up the stair to the third floor and his eyes went wide. He was in a very unfamiliar room and Michael clung to his side, drooling slightly on the pillow beside his own head.

"Ugh," Pete said in slight disgust as he shook Michael's shoulder. "Michael," he hissed, "Wake the fuck up, we need to leave. We shouldn't be up here."

"Huh?" Michael grunted, bringing the hand that had been across Pete's front to grip his head. He didn't open his eyes until Pete shook him again and received a miserable glare form Michael.

"Come the fuck on," Pete said as he got out of bed. This was just ridiculous and as he picked up his phone from the floor beside the nightstand Pete realized it was 2 in the afternoon. He helped Michael out of bed who stumbled after first standing up, eyes squinted with his sensitivity to the midday light filtering in through the windows. "Michael," Pete whispered, hearing the door of the room next to them open as he took the curly haired man's hand.

"Hm?" Michael said dazedly, hungry and dehydrated and hung over. Frankly, he felt like shit and had no interest in moving, but the hand in his tugged on him and Michael followed without thinking. As Pete passed the dresser he snagged something from the clutter on top of it, realizing for the first time this must be a woman's room.

Pete dragged Michael over to the glass door to the balcony and from behind him he heard a comical hiss as if the taller goth were mimicking a vampire from some classic horror flick. Chuckling, Pete opened up the pair of sunglasses he'd stolen and put them on Michael's face with his free hand, disregarding the fact he nearly poked the man in the eye in the process. Emerging from the shaded comfort of a day lit room with no lights on, Pete and Michael entered the intense sun as the tall man grunted appreciatively after very slowly realizing why everything was still comfortably shaded.

Pete turned the corner on the balcony to descend the stairs down the side of the house and slowed now that they were out of sight from anyone who may enter the bedroom. Cautiously holding Michael's hand as he staggered down the steps, Pete escorted the zombie-like man as he heard voices from the bedroom they'd just left. Realizing he'd left the balcony door open, Pete covered his mouth and smiled at the angry voices surprised to see the off limits bedroom in disarray. Michael stopped his descent to turn his head and listen in as well, assuming some semblance of livelihood when he returned his gaze to Pete he smiled too. They snickered stupidly as they got to the lawn on ground level and exited the gate to the front street. Their pace slowed then as Michael's discomfort registered on his face.

When they returned to Pete's aunt's house Pete and Michael spent the rest of the day recuperating and then had dinner. Michael caught the bus home the following morning.


	5. Chapter 5: Inklings

Inklings

Michael was a little surprised when Pete told him he was coming back to South Park for a few days. He was relieved. When Pete said Michael couldn't visit the small college town that month he feared his friend was avoiding him. Instead he just didn't want to tell Michael about plans that weren't finalized yet. He'd be in on the 14th, his aunt was driving in to visit Pete's father for a few days.

**Pete Thompson**

Aunt Helena wants to visit dad for his birthday

since she's going to be in my old bedroom at his house can I stay at your place?

**Michael Hannover**

sure.

**Pete Thompson**

and Henrietta's coming to town on the 15th

**Michael Hannover**

what's the occasion?

**Pete Thompson**

apparently her mom is moving out of town and promised Henrietta money if she helped with the move

**Michael Hannover**

alright.

**Pete Thompson**

she bought a tattoo gun recently and she's bringing it. better think about what you want on you

**Michael Hannover**

i never really thought of getting one before.

does she even know how to use that thing?

**Pete Thompson**

*shrug* she just told me her boyfriend's been teaching her. he's a professional i guess

but she isn't old enough to work in a shop

anyway, how often do you get a free tattoo?

it'll be fun.

**Michael Hannover**

i guess.

if i were to get a tattoo where should it go?

**Pete Thompson**

don't you 'i guess' me

you're getting one

and i always fancied knuckle tattoos

though I could honestly never see you with those

a chest tattoo

or maybe on the hip?

**Michael Hannover**

alright, alright. i'll can get one. i'll just have to think on what to get.

and the hip sounds kind of appealing.

**Pete Thompson**

might sting a little though

**Michael Hannover**

how bad is it?

**Pete Thompson**

not that bad, like a constant but subtle sting

i mean

can't be worse than some of piercings i've endured

**Michael Hannover**

like what?

**Pete Thompson**

that's for me to know and for you to speculate at best

**Michael Hannover**

killjoy, come on.

**Pete Thompson**

nah, maybe one day i'll show you.

anyway, I have to go to class

**Michael Hannover**

oh hey wait. there's this podcast you need to download. search 'Where the Dark Children Roam'

**Pete Thompson**

cool, i'll ttyl then

* * *

Michael looked past the register as he counted out change to a customer to see a familiar dark figure enter the convenience store. Catching his eyes briefly, the corner of Pete's lips twitched with his subtle smile before he went to the back of the store to get some kind of fruit drink.

Dealing somewhat hastily with the customers who stood in line before Pete, Michael called out to a "Bobby," in the back room. A middle aged woman came out of the office to fiddle with a few things as Pete approached the counter.

"I thought you and your aunt wouldn't be in a for another few hours," Michael breathed as he rung up the drink. He almost reached to buy Pete a pack of cigarettes as well then remembered he'd quit smoking. Michael still had difficulty getting over that.

"Aunt Helena got her errands finished earlier than expected yesterday so we took off earlier this morning too. Sorry I didn't call," Pete explained as he handed money to Michael who denied it. He put the drink on his own tab and Pete frowned at this but did not argue. "I figured since we got here early I wouldn't bother you at work and just walk here to meet you instead. You still get off at 10 today, right?"

"Yeah," Michael answered as his body moved on autopilot and he closed the register drawer. "I'll clock out. Can you wait a minute?"

"Sure." Pete wandered aimlessly for several minutes before Michael emerged from the counter, buttoning up the front of his winter jacket.

"So do you want help getting your stuff from your dad's house to mine?" Michael asked.

"Nah, Aunt Helena and I already dropped things off at your place. I thought your mother was going to try and kiss my cheek or something though. That woman is remarkably giddy."

"She says I should make more friends and that I'm always cooped up at home that it worries her. I guess she's happy to see me with a friend over," Michael shrugged somewhat unsuccessfully beneath the bulk of his jacket. Pete chuckled at him and Michael took out and lit a cigarette.

"She's said that since we were little," Pete said. He straightened his collar when a breeze picked up. At least it wasn't snowing yet, the the temperature was pretty chilly, not bitter though, so it was tolerable.

"I guess so," Michael responded.

"So hey, this podcast you had me look up," Pete began as he felt the iPhone in his pocket.

"Did you like it?" Michael asked with a shy curiosity.

"It wasn't bad. I was surprised there were some things I haven't heard before. I guess I've been out of the loop. But why didn't you tell me you were going to start a podcast?"

"I didn't want to tell you and then bail on the idea before it happened," Michael confessed. "Besides, I need to put my massive collection of music to use somehow."

"Yeah, it was a good idea. It took me about 4 times listening to it to realize that was really your voice reading the quotes from things though."

"About that, I was wondering if you wanted to help me come up with some more content to play between songs so it's like there's someone actually hosting this thing," Michael said.

"Fuck yeah, that'd be sweet. What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know, you're more the literary and writing expert than me."

"Let's stop by my dad's place real quick then. I have most of my old book collections in storage there," Pete said.

"Alright," Michael smiled, even more so when Pete took his black gloved hand.

For at least an hour they dug through Pete's shelves of books in his father's attic. Michael helped Pete carry the substantial piles to Aunt Helena's car before making their way over to the curly haired man's house.

"We'll start with these," Pete stated determinedly as he stuffed a few anthologies in his backpack.

"Want to look though them in the cemetery?" Michael asked and smiled when Pete looked up at him as though he was a genius. "I'll go put some things together for lunch then," he said as he left his dark room to leave Pete to his pickings.

Coming back ten minutes later with a brown bag of sandwiches and other assorted things he found in his mother's fridge, Michael found Pete paging through a book sitting on his bed. He put the bag into Pete's book-bag and they walked the two blocks from Michael's house to the South Park Cemetery.

They B-lined for the tree on the far side of the evenly plotted field where the tombstones dated farther back and were aged nicely. It was a place they spent many summer days in middle school and a sense of nostalgia washed over them. Michael spread out a thermal blanket at the tree's base as Pete plopped down and dumped out his bag. He leaned against the tree's base, taking a book of choice in his hand and motioning to Michael.

"Come here," Pete stated, somewhat distracted by his book, and Michael complied curiously.

Michael sat between Pete's outstretched legs where the younger goth had motioned and tentatively laid back. Pete received Michael, despite his hesitance to lay the weight of his head back on the chest behind him.

"This," Pete began as he reached forward to pass the book before Michael who took it in his hands. Michael chuckled very quietly before he read the highlighted passage. He'd somewhat forgotten about Pete's organized, compulsive need to bookmark and highlight his favorite passages throughout his book collection since high school.

Reading the words aloud, Michael hesitated when he felt fingers toy with his curls and forced himself to finish the passage.

"Yeah, wouldn't that make a great opening for one of your episodes?" Pete expressed with enthusiasm. Despite their somewhat romantic seating arrangement, Pete was too caught up in this opportunity to be more focused on what assumptions Michael might think of the situation. But Michael needed this enthusiasm from Pete to keep him going with the podcast so he wouldn't quit it like most other hobbies he'd taken up. He pushed his desire for an ulterior motive to the back of his head.

"That would work nicely for an arrangement of songs I had planned for the future. This just might have the coherent element I need to make the episode have a theme," Michael said happily as his eyes scanned over the highlighted words once more. "Do you have any more that might go along with this?"

"Yeah," Pete answered quickly and Michael felt the fingers leave his hair to follow the motion of reaching for another book. "How about this one?"

An hour and a half quickly passed before the growling of Pete's stomach tore them from their literary indulgences. Michael had been taking notes on themes for different episodes, the pages of quotes to use and the corresponding songs to go along with them. His vision was developing nicely and so was his excitement for this project.

* * *

Then next day Henrietta came into town and just after she knocked on the door she thought Michael's mother would hug her to death.

"Hello Ms. Fran," Henrietta said in the death grip of Michael's mother. "It's nice to see you too," she could hardly even return the hug, her arms bound to her sides.

"Oh, it's great to see you too! You should come to town more often! My poor Michael is always so lonely," Fran said with a boisterous smile which had always kind of irritated Henrietta.

"I'm not lonely, mom," Michael said from behind the woman who turned to smile at him with an expression as though she'd been caught. He stood leaning against the wall with one shoulder and his arms crossed. "I enjoy my solitude."

"Hey, Henrietta," Pete said as he emerged from the hallway and around Michael to approach the goth girl with open arms. They embraced and Henrietta kissed Pete's cheek as she squeezed similar to the way Fran had. Henrietta hadn't changed much since the last time Pete'd seen her. At that time she had been refining her style in preparation for moving out of South Park and in with the guy she'd been dating for two years. Jordan was a nice guy, if a little low on self esteem, but Henrietta loved him. She was still heavyset but filled out well, her hourglass shape only accentuated by her thick thighs which she'd disclosed to Pete was Jordan's favorite feature though he wouldn't admit it.

"Oh, I missed you guys!" Henrietta said with a gleam in her eye. She leaned to pick up the silver metal case beside her, her curled hair sliding from her shoulders. She paused in front of Michael to give him a kind of half hug.

"I'll make you kids dinner," Fran said as she passed them into the kitchen with a smile.

"Thanks," Pete said, his gratitude genuine. Though Fran's cooking wasn't bad, it sometimes involved things out of the box with lots of salt, the kinds of food Pete tried to avoid eating in college. It would be a real treat to have some cheap mac'n'cheese and soda and chips and fresh out of the freezer chicken fingers.

The three walked down the hall as Pete asked Henrietta how her trip was and she responded that it was alright since Jordan, her boyfriend, usually had something entertaining to say and they could always fall back on listening to music or podcasts.

"Oh, Michael started a podcast," Pete said quickly with excitement underlying his tone.

"You did?" Henrietta asked as they passed Michael's bedroom for the spare room/den at the back of the house. It was where their group had hung out since elementary school when they weren't in Henrietta's bedroom. Since everything at her house was in boxes, that wasn't really an option anymore. Though Michael's house was also a little older and more outdated than Henrietta's they all indulged in the nostalgia the old room brought.

"Only one episode so far," Michael admitted as he sat down on the end of the cushy sofa.

"Can we listen to it?" Henrietta asked with excitement.

"I don't know, it's not really that great or anything," Michael said nervously.

"Of course we can," Pete undercut him. "I have it right here on my phone." Michael let his head fall back in defeat as Henrietta clapped her hands together. Pete walked past them to plug the headphone adapter chord that hung from the chunky stereo which was probably dated from the late 80s.

A flat, familiar voice came on as it announced the name of the podcast and briefly read a short quote from Poe as the beginning of a melodic bass tune slowly rose in the background to open the first song. The theme of the episode was death, or as Michael had put it, "the inevitability of human mortality," because what could be more goth.

"Oh, I love this song," Henrietta said as she and Pete looked over at Michael who refused to make eye contact with them. "Who knew you'd have such a talent for composing music collections," Henrietta said somewhat sarcastically. She knew he'd always had a massive music collection since they were old enough to be really influenced by it. In fact, Michael had been the one to introduce his younger friends to the wonders of most of the sounds which would help define them. Michael only raised his eyebrows at her and Henrietta smiled. "This is the perfect thing to listen to while I tattoo you guys!"

"That's a real thing then," Michael said and Henrietta nodded excitedly.

"I may not have a license just yet but check these out," she said as she rolled up her black leggings to revealed thick thighs with intricate designs. Pete grew closer and Michael leaned forward to have a better look. "Ah, hold on," Henrietta said as she wiggled her hips to pull the leggings down from beneath her skirt instead. She stepped out of them as if undressing before her two old friends would have been no big deal on the spot.

"You did all of these?" Pete asked. "But that means you did them upside down."

"It's not so hard, once you get your image finalized and transfer it it's really just like tracing since I can't color yet." Pete nodded in wonder at the collage of designs that looked like they might be from a book of elegantly designed Halloween stickers. "So do you guys know what you want?" Henrietta asked as she let the brim of her skirt fall from her hands.

"A dancing skeleton," Pete said as he exposed the interior of his right wrist and pointed. "With a cemetery going around my wrist," Pete concluded before looking over at Michael expectantly who leaned back. He sighed and Pete was discouraged as if Michael was going to bail on him. Instead he lifted the brim of his black button down shirt to expose his lower belly and Pete's attention was torn from the fact they were discussing tattoos.

"Four little coffins of different types across here," he motioned along the interior of his right hipbone. "And one large one on the side here," and Michael's finger motioned up the inside of his other hipbone. He lowered his shirt again and Pete refused to acknowledge his disappointment as the visuals were revoked.

"Alright," Henrietta said in response. "Your coffins should be easy enough but Pete's dancing skeleton will take a little while to draw up. Can I use your laptop?" she asked in Michael's direction.

"You may," he said as he rose from the couch to retrieve it from his room.

Henrietta dug into her bag for a bottle of transfer cream, tracing paper, transfer paper and her sketchbook. Pete took a seat next to her as he watched and they tuned back in to Michael's podcast.

"It's weird hearing his voice when I know he just left the room," Henrietta said to Pete as the podcast Michael read a brief quote from Voltaire. Pete chuckled in response.

"We just pulled together some material today for themes for his next episode," Pete said fondly.

"Really?" Henrietta said with excitement as she heard Michael descend the three steps back into the den. She turned quickly to him and said, "You have to let me read some of the stuff that goes into your podcast episodes, as payment for the free tattoo you're getting today."

"Alright," Michael agreed. After all, though Michael had the music and Pete knew his literary works, Henrietta had always been the charismatic one, especially while reading to the group aloud.

Henrietta set up as Fran came in with snacks and Pete retrieved a few of the books he and Michael had gone through the previous day.

"What's all of this?" Fran asked curiously as she watched Henrietta unpack her kit.

"My tattoo machine," Henrietta answered without hesitation. "Do you want one too?" she asked Fran who laughed.

"Maybe if I was twenty years younger," she admitted. "You kids have fun and let me know if there's anything you need, alright?" and Fran took her leave as they nodded in her direction. Though Fran could be overbearingly friendly, at least she condoned anything that didn't involve committing severe crimes. She had always chalked up Michael's individual interests to self expression, and in that sense the other goth kids had envied his freedom in youth. But they eventually found Fran was a kind of lenient parent to the lot of them and though they never expressed it openly, Fran was a pretty cool woman.

Since Pete needed to look up the idea image online for Henrietta to reference so that his expectations were met, Michael was the first to be tattooed. He already had crude representations doodled of what he wanted and Henrietta enlarged and cleaned up his designs into her own.

"Maybe Pete should go first," Michael said quickly as Henrietta turned on her machine to gauge the speed of the needle. Pete looked up quickly.

"You're not chickening out," Pete said more than asked. Michael winced, his eyes not leaving the needle which jutted out of the end of the machine with a steady hum.

"How much will this hurt?" he asked, falling back into the couch and somewhat dramatically throwing his arm over his eyes.

"It's like when I pierced your ears in middle school, only a little more of a constant sting," Henrietta explained. She glanced toward Pete before finishing, "Nothing you can't handle, it's not so bad."

"If it makes you feel better I'll hold your hand," Pete said flatly and Michael's arm raised suddenly from his face as he looked in the direction of red streaks. He sat up and swallowed.

"Okay," Michael said with a new-found enthusiasm as he tried to compose himself for this. Henrietta smiled curiously and glance toward Pete who just rolled his eyes.

"Okay," Henrietta repeated. "You should probably take off your shirt so it doesn't get in the way and lean back so I can transfer this design on you."

As Michael complied Pete forgot about his subtle embarrassment for saying he'd hold the older man's hand. Instead his eyes traced Michael's thin, flat stomach to hollow hip bones, up his dark happy trail to a deep bellybutton, his slanted nipples, the protrusion of collarbones and back down again. This was so worth it.

Finally all set up with the coffins positioned and transferred, Henrietta looked up to Michael who exhaled slowly. Pete still sat on the floor at the laptop as he traced one of the skeleton designs from the computer screen.

"This may hurt a little," Henrietta admitted as she lowered the machine and it made contact with Michael's lower belly. Pete glanced up since there was no sound from Michael over the tattoo machine's hum and studied the grimace on the curly haired man's face. He endured it to the best of ability, but still Michael was betraying the agony he felt. Pete supposed being so thin Michael didn't exactly have much to cushion the impact of the needle, but it wasn't that bad. Not for Pete anyway, Michael was a fucking wimp.

Pete stood up silently, replaying the podcast which had ended before pausing in front of the couch. He waited for Henrietta to lift the reverberating needle as she glanced up at him before sitting down. Pete took Michael's hand as promised and the thin man squeezed his. Michael sighed then as Henrietta paused in the tattooing to give him a moment before starting again. This time around Michael's hand in Pete's twitched upon the contact with the needle, but otherwise his expression was more composed. Perhaps he'd become more conscious since Pete had sat down next to him. Either way Pete enjoyed his view.

He noted a few small dark hairs which grew from around Michael's nipple and imagined plucking them out with tweezers to be rewarded with the grimace he'd just witnessed. Pete smiled accidentally and was grateful both his friends were too distracted to notice. Thirty five minutes passed and Michael had his arm over his eyes again though the discomfort had mellowed out since it began.

"Finished," Henrietta said as she cut off the machine and removed her gloves. Michael removed his arm to look down at his hips.

"Already?" Michael asked as Pete chuckled beside him, shaking his head slightly.

"Yep," Henrietta answered. "Snack break then it's Pete's turn. Did you figure out your design yet?" she asked as she turned in his direction.

"Almost," Pete said. He wanted to say he would have by now were it not for Michael but sitting next to the shirtless man had given him something nice to ogle at for that half an hour so he couldn't complain. Releasing Michael's hand Pete stood and returned to the laptop to finish his tracing job. Henrietta cleaned up his design and before Pete knew it, he was the one sitting on the couch where Michael had been. Only instead of being shirtless he was resting his wrist on a folding TV tray dinner table and Michael was not next to him. Instead the older goth had gone to show him mom his hip and been conned into to washing some dishes before dinner. How unromantic.

Though his wrist was very tender, Pete didn't betray his discomfort and when Michael finally came to sit beside him his wrist tattoo was nearly finished. He was disappointed to see the man's shirt back on. They sat in silence, only the podcast playing for the third time in the background the only sound besides the mechanical hum. Unfortunately the hand nearest Michael that could have been held was the one being tattooed.

"There," Henrietta said finally. "Is there anything else you want done before I dispose of this needle?" she asked as an afterthought. Pete lifted his hand and turned his wrist to view his knew, permanent bracelet.

"Sweet," he said happily. "Oh, check it out," he added as he extended his hand and bent his wrist. The skeleton on it interior seemed to stretch and contract giving it the kinetic illusion of dancing. Henrietta laughed allowed and Michael smiled in amusement. As Henrietta reached to unplug her machine Pete spoke up. "Hey wait, give me a little skull here," and Pete gestured to just above the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

"Sure," Henrietta answered, slipping her gloves back on. "But don't you want reference? It's going to look like shit otherwise."

"Nah, it's fine," Pete said, unsuspecting that his post endorphin rush was what made him so complacent. And he endured another brief tattoo on the opposite hand from his wrist tattoo which freed up the hand closest to Michael who sat patiently next to him. Pete tentatively found Michael's hand and entwined their fingers, careful not to touch the ointment on the tattoo about his wrist. Henrietta pretended not to notice the notion and maintained the illusion of being distracted for the few minutes it took to tattoo a makeshift skull.

"Complete!" Henrietta exclaimed happily, watching as Pete examined the new skull on his hand. "It's a little crooked though," Henrietta admitted consciously.

"It's perfect," Pete said as he smiled at her. "Thanks," he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"Thank you," Michael added as well and she beamed at them.

"Dinner's ready," Fran said then as she entered the den.

The four enjoyed dinner, Pete indulging in the food especially, before retiring once again to the den. Upon doing so the rest of the evening was spent passing around Michael's headset as they skimmed through Pete's books and read from them. Finally around midnight they put on some ridiculously obscure independent horror movie and fell asleep about the den.

Pete and Michael didn't see Henrietta again while she was in town. She was too busy helping her mother move and both remembered how frustrating it could be to be around Henrietta's overbearing mother.

They tended to their tattoos, watched old horror flicks and went through Michael's vast collection of music to pull out what might work together in an episode for his podcast. When Pete's aunt was called back for work he was tragically disappointed to have his South Park visit cut short by two whole days. Though he didn't particularly like South Park, being able to spend time with Michael made it all worth it and he was surprised to find himself reluctant to leave.

Not to mention he'd arranged plans in his head that could potentially push his and Michael's relationship a step further. That lovely amount of time being able to study Michael's shirtless form was enough to let Pete's mind plot a seductive scheme. Though Pete had been a little ashamed at his lusty thoughts, his aunt's sudden need to leave put such a damper on his excitement.

"It sucks you have to leave early," Michael confessed quietly as Pete picked up his packed bags. The walked to the front door but before opening it for Pete, Michael turned toward him and leaned down to place a kiss on the forehead beneath that straight hair. He straightened up to look at Pete momentarily. Michael was pleased when Pete raised himself on his toes long enough to return the gesture, as their lips met.

"You'll be in town soon," Pete said encouragingly.

Michael smiled softly as he opened the door for Pete and watched his friend get into his aunt's car and depart.

Soon was never soon enough.


	6. Chapter 6: Rose Tint My World

Rose Tint My World

"They still don't give school holidays for Halloween even in college?" Michael asked Pete who helped him carry his bags from the bus. "How unfortunate," he added, shaking his head for good measure. "What are we doing tomorrow anyway?

"The Rocky Horror Picture Show is playing tomorrow night at 10 in the theater," Pete said as he and Michael walked to his aunt's house. "But I can't stay out too late because I have class the morning after."

"Oh, I have never been to a public screening of it before," Michael admitted with interest.

"Yeah, it's customary to dress up as characters from the show," Pete shared his enthusiasm while Michael's deflated upon further consideration.

"Oh no," Michael said, waving his hands in front of him in denial.

"What?" Pete asked innocently.

"Don't make me," Michael said as disdain ebbed into his voice.

"I'm not going to _make_ you dress up," Pete said, rolling his eyes before adding, "But I do sort of already have the costumes.

Michael groaned because he knew exactly who he was going to have to go as. Though his resemblance to Tim Curry only went as far as his hair and tall demeanor, Michael remembered Henrietta once telling him he'd make a good, albeit skinny Frank-N-Furter.

"At least tell me I can be the mad scientist version," Michael breathed nervously.

"But that's not the version I have," Pete said with determination. "Besides, I'm going as Columbia which means cross dressing, so yours isn't so bad."

"Yeah, okay," Michael said sarcastically. "Because wearing panty-hose isn't cross dressing."

"You'll go though, right?" Pete asked persistently as he received a sidelong glance of frustration.

* * *

As they stood in line for entry into the theater, Michael was thankful that the exceptionally chilly October night called for a jacket with enough substance to conceal his revealing attire. It didn't crush his embarrassment entirely, and Michael suffered after not wearing pants over his leggings. At least he'd talked Pete into letting him wear an extra pair of panyhose to conceal the dark hair on his legs instead of having to shave. But Pete found himself reveling curiously in his best friend's apparent misery none the less.

Michael gave the woman in the ticket booth the two stubs Pete had purchased a week earlier. Pete eyed Michael, recalling when the slender man stepped out of the bathroom clad in a Frank-N-Furter costume. His heart leaped in that moment. Though Michael was too thin to be the original, Pete enjoyed the way that the outfit framed his trim, long physique.

They spent the following hours singing, eating popcorn, consuming mixed drinks and occasionally standing up to dance with the figures on the screen. Each time Pete looked over at Michael in those scantily clad underwear and fishnet stocking, he had an overwhelming urge to touch him. Pete restrained himself though, deciding jerking or sucking Michael off in a crowded movie theater wasn't a very classy thing to do.

Worn out from their time staring at a projection screen and occasionally getting up to dance to the music, Pete and Michael returned to his aunt's empty house. They stood in Pete's room, wishing they could acclimate to the heated house a little more quickly.

Pete removed his own jacket to hang it next to the closet before turning toward Michael.

"That was great," Michael admitted with a smile as he glanced toward Pete who helped him from his jacket.

"Yeah, it was," Pete agreed before adding, "Not to mention I got to see you wear ladies stockings." Michael rolled his eyes before he inhaled, holding his breath. Pete grew closer to him and Michael's heart sped up because Pete's eyes weren't on his, or even on the upper half for his body for that matter.

Pete descended until his knees met the carpeted floor and a hot mouth pressed to the fabric of the front of Michael's black panties. Gasping as Pete's tongue wet the black cotton, Michael exhaled, "What the fuck are you doing?" in one fast breath. He asked the question more in astonishment than disgust, but he helped Pete stand back up quickly. He wouldn't last long like that.

Pete mistook Michael's action as denying him and his heart sank for a moment. Then Michael pulled Pete until they both sat on the edge of the bed before he took Pete's sweet lips which taste of alcoholic mixed drinks and caramel popcorn. Pete, who grew hesitant and tense after his initial disappointment, chalked the kiss up to their exhaustion. Pulling back, Michael thought he could see the hint of lust in Pete's expression as dark eyes followed his withdrawal.

"I thought you had more experience at this than me," Michael teased as Pete seemed to be awoken from a daze by the taunt. Pete wiped his lips with the back of his hand in a self conscious gesture.

"Shut up," Pete retorted, his brow furrowing before he gripped Michael by the neck of his laced up shirt. Rising onto his knees to loom over Michael, Pete leaned down to kiss the curly haired man. Michael expected Pete's lips to be harsh against his like the fists tangled in the collar of his shirt but he was surprisingly gentle, lips soft and slow, his tongue teasing. Perhaps Pete did have more experience than Michael knew about.

Michael wrapped his arms around the waist before him, drawing Pete closer whose legs rested on either side of Michael's. His long fingers ripped apart the Velcro on the back of Pete's sequined corset to trace up his spine. A barely audible sound of encouragement left Pete and Michael deepened their kiss as his hands explored. Intertwining his fingers in Michael's dark curls, Pete absorbed the softness of his hair as he inhaled the man's subtle rosy scent. Michael's hands moved back down to Pete's hips as their lips parted and he sat up a bit, allowing his hands to strip Pete of the shiny shirt altogether. Pressing his lips to Pete's stomach, Michael was pleased to hear the young man inhale sharply before rising his hands along his sides. A slight tickling sensation mingled with Pete's arousal before Michael's thumbs brushed his nipples and he was absorbed by the erotic sensation. Turning his dark eyes upward, Michael was rewarded with the lusty expression on Pete's face and he smiled. Pete paused, meeting Michael's eyes who licked just above his pierced bellybutton and he inhaled absentmindedly again. Hair falling into his eyes, Pete withdrew a hand from Michael's hair to swipe the strands from his face and held them there. Eying Michael as he smiled up at him, Pete took his other hand to push the curly haired man's face away.

"Don't look," Pete whispered and Michael chuckled, returning his lips to the pale tummy. Michael was slightly frustrated when he tried to move lower.

"Sit back," Michael instructed Pete, resisting the urge to eye the bulging in the front of his sparkling shorts as the man complied. Maneuvering backward, Pete sat on the bed as Michael simultaneously crawled over him. Kissing Pete again, Michael blindly felt to unbutton the man's shorts and fondle him through his underwear. Michael moved down Pete's body, pausing to kiss his neck, collarbone, a nipple, and swab his tongue into the man's bellybutton. Pete shivered as each wet spot cooled and he awaited Michael's touch, resisting the urge to watch the curly haired man for fear he might cum too quickly.

Michael smiled at the Halloween printed underwear which read "Wicked" exposed by the unzipped V of Pete's striped shorts before peeling them low enough to expose the goth's enthusiasm. A little startled to find metal beads on either side of the head of Pete's erection, Michael recalled a moment when the shorter man had insinuated he had jewelry elsewhere and his smile widened fondly.

Uncertain what he was doing, Michael tried to concentrate on how he'd repeatedly fantasized having this encounter with Pete before. He traced his tongue up along the underside of Pete's hardness before wrapping his long fingers easily around him. Hissing softly, Pete finally looked down to follow Michael's actions as the man's lips took his head curiously between them and a warm tongue swabbed along his sensitivity. Metal clinked against Michael's teeth as he drew Pete in.

Michael remembered what he himself liked and his free hand lowered, his thumb pressing into the gentle convex beneath Pete's sac. Hissing again, this time with a little more intensity as Michael's mouth began to take him in little by little, Pete threaded his fingers into dark curls. Feeling the movements of Michael's head within his hands, Pete could barely keep his eyes open as dark ones turned up to watch him. Pete held Michael's gaze as if it were a challenge before he let himself go beneath the fraction of contact he'd been exposed to. It seemed to Pete as though Michael's movements weren't just the bob of his head but little thrusts of his entire body. Pete in turn thrust gently, trying his best to restrain his primal urge to choke Michael and focused his attention on rubbing his beaded head along his tongue. Sloppy little wet noises illicited from Pete's movement between Michael's lips as he built up a pleasurable pace.

His hands tightened in Michael's hair, pulling the man's mouth from him as he came with an intensity he seldom remembered feeling before and Pete's mind dissolved into numb pleasure. For a few moments Pete lay there, the quick rise and fall of his chest slowly subsiding as he gained a vague sense of composure. As Pete's vision cleared he looked upon Michael to realize he'd cum across the side of the man's face when he tried to avoid his mouth, worrying subconsciously it might gross the curly haired man out.

"Ah," Pete said in a panic, reaching for the corner of the sheet. "Sorry," he apologized softly, wiping the white globules from Michael's cheek. Sitting up, Michael indulged in letting Pete tend to cleaning him up, reveling in his own pleasure that came with the consideration with a soft smile. Pete looked at Michael with a surprised "Oh," having apparently missing a spot during his cleanup and the older man was startled when Pete took one of his curls, pulling it taut before taking it between his lips. As the strand pulled gently out from between Pete's lips he grew conscious that he'd just tasted himself in front of Michael.

"That's gross," Pete said in an attempt to reconcile himself and Michael's eyelids lowered as he considered what had just happened.

"Nah," Michael said softly and kissed Pete, seeking out some foreign taste on the man's lips for himself. He wanted to tell Pete he thought the gesture was sexy but refrained, concerned he might be too forward.

Despite his lazy, post-orgasmic state, Pete overtook Michael then, pushing the taller man back onto the bed as they swapped positions. Pete captured Michael's lips for a few moments before drawing back to fumble with the man's black panties. Hesitating nervously, Michael's hands took Pete's and he protested.

"Wait," he began as Pete looked up at him with an unreadable expression. "It's okay, you don't need to." Brows furrowing, Pete parted his lips as if to say something but decided to begin slowly lowering the edge of Michael's panties instead. "Really," Michael insisted, stopping Pete's hands as he took them in his. Anger graced Pete's face then and Michael was a little startled at the man's reaction.

"You don't get to expose me then withdraw like that," Pete declared, his voice soft as usual but his stern tone making up for it. Michael thought that if he pleased Pete it should be enough but he hadn't considered how one sided that would make their encounter. He sighed then, pausing to work up his courage so that he could release Pete's hands.

"I'm..." Michael trailed off as his voice faltered, losing all semblance of his confidence from before. "Small," he finished, gulping down his anxiety and Pete looked up at him for a good moment. Michael diverted his eyes before Pete responded nonchalantly.

"Size isn't everything," the young man whispered. Those were words Michael had always told himself but never could believe and he internally pleaded that Pete meant it.

Finally lowering Michael's panties, Pete exposed his lover's privacy for his own viewing before pausing. Dread welled in Michael's gut before Pete spoke.

"You're not hard," he said softly. Regret gathered in Pete for a split moment as he thought for sure he'd been too forward with Michael and the man had not enjoyed their intimacy in the first place. He eyed Michael's face hesitantly, dread welling in his heart before he noted the flush to come across the man's cheeks. Feeling like a fool, Michael realized he had been so consumed in the pleasure of his orgasm as he rubbed himself against the mattress while he sucked Pete off then overtaken by his anxiety of being small that he couldn't think properly.

"I already came," Michael choked out, still avoiding eye contact and Pete looked down again.

"Oh," Pete said stupidly, noting the damp fabric of Michael's panties. Pete smiled bashfully then and crawled back over Michael to kiss his cheek. Pushing him down until dark curls met the sheets, Pete put his weight down on top of Michael who trembled slightly. "You're easy," Pete said jokingly, still smiling as he placed a kiss on Michael's strong jaw.

"Shut up," Michael responded, raising an arm to try and conceal his face. "Ugh," he added, embarrassed and disappointed by his inadequacies. When Pete chuckled and pushed Michael's arm over his head to reveal his face, their lips met.

"I think your hopelessness is cute," Pete whispered, lowering his cheek to rest on Michael's bony shoulder. In response Michael stroked the hair back that fell into Pete's eyes and he continued to run his fingers through the disheveled straightened black for some time.

Bodies having cooled just before they fell asleep, Pete stripped the rest of his clothes off and Michael followed his lead. The mess they'd made discarded to the floor, Pete pulled the comforter over them and each pressed into the warmth beside them.

* * *

The next morning Michael took the bus back home to South Park, leaving Pete to his studies and busy schedule.

Michael savored the kiss he shared with Pete before they left the shorter goth's Aunt's house. He didn't want it to stop, and kept prolonging their kissing for as long as he could, leaving Pete breathless and smiling gently with swollen, wet lips.

As Michael watched Pete wave him off he couldn't get over the feeling that he was going to miss Pete a long more than Pete missed him since he didn't have the time to spare to think of Michael. Since his own life was relatively dull in the confines of South Park, Michael would have all too much time to look forward and dwell on the next time Pete would visit or he could go visit Pete.


	7. Chapter 7: Natal Day

7 Natal Day

Though Michael's birthday wouldn't be for almost another week once he was back home in South Park, Pete insisted that they do something special while he was in town. They made a day of roaming around to the usual places, trudging through the snow. They walked through cemeteries, perused the secondhand bookstore then sat down to eat in an artsy diner.

Pete laughed when a waiter and waitress came out from the back to sing happy birthday to Michael who was beyond embarrassed. Eating a chocolate ice cream cake, they retired Pete's place for a few hours before the younger goth had to go out to meet with a study group for class. With a little time to kill, Michael walked around town to buy a few things for something he had planned. Since he hadn't specifically asked for anything from Pete, his friend was frustrated when he didn't know what to gift him. As Michael set up in Pete's room, he smiled to himself; Pete would give him the gift he wanted when he got home, he was sure.

Pete entered his own dim bedroom which was lit with several candles along the walls.

"What's this?" Pete asked somewhat comically looking around in bewilderment as soft shadows danced with the flames that moved upon his and Michael's entrance.

"It's romantic," Michael responded, not forfeiting his intentions to sudden scrutiny. Sure, it was maybe a little lame but Michael had always wanted to do things like this with someone.

"Real people consider this romantic?" Pete asked, still looking around the room. Though the statement could have been cynical, the considerate tone in Pete's voice and his entertained smile suggested he was slowly warming up to the idea.

"Unless of course, I'm just a figment of your imagination," Michael countered. He faltered a little for a moment before asking, "You don't like it?" Pete turned toward him with simultaneous apology and amusement written on his face.

"It's just," Pete began, his eyes looking around again. Pete wanted to say that it was a little cheesy, because it was, but he decided against since it was just him and Michael; there was no one to judge them. And frankly Michael's tenancy toward the romantic could potentially be refreshing and altogether lovely. "You're going to put all of my previous relationships to shame," Pete concluded instead with a comforting smile.

"I should hope so," Michael commented as if that was his intention all along and he returned Pete's smile. As Pete turned his back to him to eye the candles about the room, Michael approached the shorter goth, wrapping his arms around Pete's waist to pull his back against his front. He looked over Pete's shoulder who turned his head to look up at him. Michael leaned around a bit, his hands wandering beneath Pete's shirt, to plant a firm though somewhat awkward kiss on the corner of the young man's lips.

Michael's hands swept up Pete's front and the shorter goth's hands rested over his. As his lips fumbled clumsily with Pete's, his fingertips rubbed pale, pierced nipples to hardness, gently at first before building in pressure. Michael's attention too harsh for comfort as if testing Pete's tolerance, Pete took those hands and guided them lower where their actions could be put to better use, in his opinion anyway. As Michael's hands continue on their path Pete skillfully stripped off his shirt to deposit it on the floor. Long fingers unbuckled Pete's belt and pulled it with a somewhat harsh motion from the belt loops. That too was thrown to the side before Michael's hands unbuttoned Pete's pants which fell to the floor. Pete watched Michael's palms press flat against his lower belly as they slowly lowered and fingertips disappeared before the brim of his boxer briefs.

Pete pressed into those hands which compensated by drawing him back against Michael. Two hands gripped him, one tight around his shaft while the fingers of the other fondled his head and Pete quickly grew to full arousal. He thrust wildly and without restraint, effectively fucking Michael's hands. Hot breath brushed his ear as Pete took Michael's hands in his own beneath the dampening fabric of his boxers. He squeezed Michael's hands encouragingly, as if he could tighten the already fantastic grip on his erection. Pete stopped thrusting altogether then and the end of that hypnotic tempo tore Michael back into awareness.

"No more or I'm done for," Pete exhaled in an unsteady gust of breath between his lips. Michael nibbled at the space where Pete's neck met his shoulder for a moment as they tried to cool down. His hands roamed and toyed with the hair around the base of Pete's erection for lack of anything else to do.

"Come here," Michael said then as he stepped slowly backward and sat on the edge bed. He drew Pete to sit between his legs and they rotated so their legs extended toward the foot board. Reclining against pillows and the headboard, Michael's hands again roamed along Pete's front before the shorter goth spoke.

"When can I touch you too?" Pete said with more composure this time.

"Let me have my turn just a little longer," Michael replied with a soft chuckle. Pete who was rather enjoying himself tried to ignore the aching desire between his legs, remembering that a little denial would build the intensity of his orgasm that would come later. In no position to argue, Pete let Michael explore his body. As hands fondled his belly and chest, Pete's relaxed indulgence in Michael's curiosity was interrupted when the curly haired man spoke again. "Lift your hips," the deep voice in his ear instructed as long fingers drew the edge of his boxers downward. Pete complied as his underwear was efficiently lowered to his knees before he took the moment to pull his feet from them altogether and tossed them to the side.

Leaning back against Michael again, Pete placed his hands over the ones that gripped the space between his erection and inner thighs. Long fingers fondled lower, one hand exploring the crevice that began beneath Pete's sac and the tip of a middle finger teased him. Spreading his legs invitingly, Pete pressed backward into Michael's chest who accepted the warm pressure. Not noticing that a hand had left him, Pete was surprised when he opened his eyes again in the midst of Michael's lack of movement to find a candle slowly tipping over his chest.

"Oh," Pete exhaled as hot, pink wax dripped toward the center of his chest. He was a little startled by the slight burning sensation which slowly subsided as it cooled before another drip hit his pale flesh.

"Does it hurt?" Michael whispered, teasing Pete as the candle moved toward his bellybutton and another hot drip fell. Pete's hands moved suddenly in response then, taking Michael's hand from his groin and drawing it upward. A little startled, Michael's hand with the candle hesitated before his thumb was drawn between Pete's lips. Still trying to concentrate on dripping the wax on Pete, Michael had difficulty keeping his composure, distracted by the sucking of Pete's hot mouth. The long fingers wrapped around the candle began to tremble and Michael's plan to tease Pete by threatening to drip hot wax on his cock was foiled.

Michael had to lower the candle and clumsily place it back onto the bedside table before he plunged two more fingers into Pete's mouth. Without hesitation, Pete compensated for the intrusion with more suction and a wet slurp.

"Fuck," Michael breathed, realizing briefly he had denied this mouth from previously having contact with his own excitement and wondering why he would have done such an atrocious thing. Pete withdrew the long fingers from his mouth before lifting himself from Michael's front. Uncertain whether his breath had been restricted in fervent concentration on the lips about his fingers or the pressure of Pete on top of him, Michael found himself reluctant to feel the slightly asphyxiated sensation subside.

However, that consideration left his mind altogether as the naked Pete turned around to face him, seating himself comfortably on Michael's lap with that soft grin on his lips. Michael couldn't help but feel Pete suspected his intentions and had purposely broken them off though he couldn't confirm his suspicion. Pete distracted him by pulling off his shirt, sitting up to allow the fabric to leave his body as it was drawn over his head.

"I want you naked too," Pete demanded in that soft yet alluring voice.

Michael nodded clumsily in response, too distracted to remember his usual self-conscious state of mind as Pete moved so he could remove his pants. As he took the edge of his boxers in his hands Michael hesitated and Pete met his eyes expectantly. Exhaling slowly, Michael turned his eyes bashfully downward as his hands quickly removed the last of his clothes. He lay back again, face burning and feeling for a moment as if he had no right to be aroused until Pete maneuvered to sit on his dark haired thighs. Refusing to look up, Michael could see on the brim of his eyesight that Pete was leaning forward and when a hand tightened around his erection he admitted defeat. Taking a familiar candle in his hand, Pete held it over Michael's chest as pink dripped down onto his skin. Shocked at the sudden burning sensation, Michael's attention shot up and he peered at Pete who sat back, knees bent on either side of his hips. Another drip fell and Michael was lost when Pete suddenly thrust forward, rubbing their cocks together in his fist as the burning returned and receded. Pete's hips moved in a steady, painfully slow motion and Michael rose a hand to his mouth as if it could contain his expression of pleasure. Not only were their erections pressing together, but the weight of Pete's balls on Michael's massaged them with steady heat.

How Pete managed to simultaneously maintain the thrust of his hips, squeeze their erections together and drip wax gradually down Michael's front was beyond him. Watching the candle slowly pass the coffins tattooed on his hips and approach their rubbing erections and the threat of impending burn upon Michael's member excited him beyond explanation.

"I'm close," Michael hissed and suddenly Pete's hand left them to the curly goth's dismay before hot wax dripped on his belly just above where their erections still touched.

Pete bit his lip as another drip fell on the heads of their cocks, dripping from the side of Pete's onto Michaels. Hissing over him, Michael fidgeted hopelessly and Pete smiled deviously as he looked up. After all, Michael had a low threshold of pain, but Pete was pleased that his partner's erection didn't shrivel as another drip of wax fell upon them. In fact, despite Michael's upset expression, he was trembling and twitching beneath Pete. With Pete over him, receiving the same hot drips of wax as him, Michael couldn't make himself work up the gall to make him stop. He needed to endure what Pete could as if it were a matter of pride.

Michael had put his arm over his eyes as he lay back in the pillows and was only torn from the searing on his cock when he heard the glass jar of the candle meet the bedside table. He didn't move until Pete took his arm and removed it from his face. Michael opened his eyes as Pete took his lips with wet, hungry fervor. Sighing into the kiss as Pete bit at his lip, a hand stroked his cock and chips of cooled wax pealed off of him.

Again Pete sat back on his thighs, distracted as put KY on his fingertips and massaged it with his thumb to warm the lubricant. Michael watched with anticipation as Pete's finger lowered past his own erection to press into himself. Pete leaned back, his weight on his free hand as he exposed himself for Michael's viewing pleasure. Licking his lips inadvertently, Michael was glad there was no contact on his person or he would have cum very quickly watching Pete like that. He swallowed as two more wet fingers filled Pete quickly, unbeknownst to him, the younger goth had prepared a few days ahead of Michael's visit. But he didn't need to know that.

"A condom," Pete breathed, his mind in a lewd haze. Michael nodded, reluctant to tear his eyes from Pete, as he blindly felt for the beside drawer and tore open a little packet. Pete held out his hand expectantly and Michael handed it to him. Placing the condom between his lips, Pete leaned forward, putting the condom on Michael's cock with his mouth.

"How, -oh fuck," Michael breathed as his sheathed head met the back of Pete's mouth. He wanted to ask how Pete knew how to do that, but maybe he'd find that out later, for the moment there were other things for Michael to concentrate on. Pete's mouth quickly left him, leaving Michael coated in a thin, smooth film as the goth with red streaks lifted himself over his partner.

Pete gripped Michael's cock in his hand as he lowered himself, pushing past the tightness of initial penetration until he sat all the way down. Michael breathed, trying to keep his composure in the tight, nearly painful heat within Pete as his body rose on his cock and descended again.

Michael laid on the bed, looking up at Pete who rode him for his own satisfaction. Michael's own pleasure was enhanced by watching the almost painful pace of his partner's pleasure seeking hump of his hips. Pete's self indulgence was ideal for Michael, who wasn't so well versed in the art of intercourse and this allowed his friend to be guaranteed orgasm. Michael could tell Pete was getting close as he leaned back, his palms pressing down into the mattress to support himself as he made short humps up and down Michael's prick. As his hips jolted forward and back and forward again Pete's pierced cock bounced and Michael was gifted what he considered one of the greatest sites he'd ever beheld. Pete let out his voice without restraint, having found just the spot and pace to bring him release as Michael reached forward. He pinched Pete's nipples, rubbing them between his fingertips around the metal bar that ran through each in excitement.

"Ah!" Pete cried, losing himself as Michael touched him. Pete's arms barely kept him up as they trembled and his body slumped. He endured for just another moment as he rode Michael, consequently squeezing the member within him as he came.

Blinded by his intense orgasm Michael didn't even realize Pete had climbed off of him to lay at his side until he felt a towel come to his chest to wipe it clean. Micheal turned his head toward Pete and leaned up to kiss his damp cheek. Pete looked down at Michael as he blindly fumbled to wrap the towel around the used condom and slip it off of Michael's soft member. He glanced down to wipe Michael as clean as possible before he tossed the towel across the room. Pete fell back down onto the bed, the thrum of his heart in his chest still subsiding as he wiggled up to Michael's side. Playing with Michael's hair mindlessly, Pete was withdrawn from his near sleep state when the curly haired man spoke softly.

"Did that hurt?" Michael whispered as he reached down to touch the metal bead that rest on the edge of the head of Pete's soft member. "I mean, compared to the others," Michael added, considering that he knew they all hurt to some measure.

"Probably the most intense thing I've experienced," Pete responded, unperturbed by Michael's curiosity. "Pain wise," he added, considering there had been equally intense moments of pleasure in his life as well.

"I like it," Michael said absentmindedly. "And these," he continued as his hand trailed upward near Pete's bellybutton piercing and higher toward his nipples.

"Do you want one?" Pete asked curiously.

"I always liked those single bead ones, they're fancy," Michael said sleepily.

"Microdermals," Pete responded, his finger twirling a dark curl beside Michael's face.

"Yeah. Right here," Michael pointed toward the center of his chest just below his collarbones.

"That'd look nice," Pete whispered in his ear.

Michael responded only with a gentle 'hm' as he and Pete descended into sleep.

* * *

"What am I doing here again?" Michael asked as he sat down on the table in the center of a small sterile room. Pete looked over to him, drawing close.

"Getting that microdermal you said you wanted," he answered.

"I never said I wanted it."

"I don't know, you seemed to have put quite a bit of consideration into it before," Pete encouraged with a teasing smile.

"That was after throws of passion," Michael countered and the female piercer glanced at them with a raised eyebrow. "I wasn't in my right mind."

The piercer left the room for the back to pick up things from the autoclave. Pete's eyes followed her exit as he leaned his lips close to Michael's ear.

"But these here are so nice," Pete said as he traced the brim of Michael's ear with his lower lip, hot breath dancing across sensitive skin. He could be so stubborn sometimes but Pete knew Michael's indecisive nature could be won over. It was just like when they were younger and Michael mentioned a new ear piercing but his uncertainty eventually discouraged him. So Pete became that encouragement when he brought a pack of needles, antibacterial soap and a hoop over to Michael's and had him take a seat. That hoop was in fact the same one Michael wore to this day, or so Pete seemed to remember. "And I think this microdermal would really suit you," Pete whispered.

He withdrew as the piercer entered the room again and Michael scowled at the floor.

"Having second thoughts?" she asked and Michael looked up at her.

"No," he said quickly, resigning himself to his new found courage.

"Okay, then can I just have you remove your shirt and lay back," she requested and Michael complied.

During the next few moments while Michael endured the considerably low pain caused by the punch though his skin, Pete sought out the man's hand regardless and their fingers entwined.

As Michael sat up he crooked his neck trying to look down at his own chest before turning toward the mirror. He rose a hand which was swatted away by Pete with a quick, "Don't touch it, your hands are dirty."

On the way out Pete tipped the piercer and they walked back to Pete's place.

"You know, you didn't have to pay for it," Pete said as he glanced at Michael.

"Yeah, but I'm the one with a full time job," Michael said, as his fingertips brushed over the little knot on the front of his shirt where the micro-dermal hid beneath a band-aid.

"But it's your birthday," Pete insisted before finishing, "And I'd pay to watch you miserable any day." He smiled, eying Michael's face expecting a snide remark or for him to roll his eyes.

But Michael only smiled gently in return, because whatever misery Pete intended for him to endure, Michael would gladly accept. After all, Pete's subtle curiosities and ideas had only ever been beneficial for Michael, though he'd never admit it to the shorter goth.

* * *

Perhaps Pete was over-thinking things when he considered how long he'd known Michael and the idea of spending a future together. He had a bad habit of doing that, dwelling on what was to come with no answers to his open ended questions. But Michael had a tenancy to think nothing of the future beyond the following month when he was scheduled to work, would get paid and maybe visit Pete. So Pete thought it was alright for him to think ahead for Michael sometimes, especially when it came to their potential life expectancies.

He was a little nervous about giving Michael the gift he'd gotten him though. Pete finally convinced himself to hand it over since Michael would be departing the next morning. Handed a small box wrapped in glittering black stars, Michael unwrapped it with an excited light in his eyes.

"What the fuck is this?" Michael looked down into the box he'd unwrapped, asking with genuine curiosity and a bit of concern.

"An electronic cigarette," Pete said as Michael looked up at him with a slight grimace.

"What am I suppose to do with this?" Michael asked as he lifted the silver pipe-like object in his hand.

"You smoke it," Pete said obviously.

"That's what I have cigarettes for," Michael responded stubbornly, frowning.

"Yeah, but this still gives you a dose of nicotine, produces a water vapor and doesn't have all of those nasty chemicals," Pete explained. He had prepared himself to do a bit of explaining.

"I like my cigarettes just fine, thanks," Michael said. He couldn't pinpoint why this frustrated him so much, perhaps if Pete wanted to 'improve his lifestyle' then so be it, but he didn't have to drag Michael into it.

"But cigarettes are such shit for you," Pete said, his patience tested. He wanted to tel Michael it was taking years off of his life, but Pete knew this wouldn't work. After all Michael didn't have any particular obsession with living, he just did because it was what he could do before death. "And they make you smell bad," Pete's tummy turned a little, maybe that wasn't the right insentive.

"You never complained about me smelling bad before," Michael said, legitimately offended. He went to considerable lengths to smell quite nice and that remark shot right through his pride.

"Since I stopped smoking I can smell better and every time you're around you wreak of it," Pete said. "I mean, you smell nice otherwise, but the smokey smell invades my senses and makes my head hurt." That was funny, Michael could have sworn just after Pete quit he indulged in that smokey essence he still carried around, now he was changing his mind and acting all superior.

"I'm not using this," Michael said angrily, putting the item back into its box. It was unusual for him to be the offended one fueling their feud, but this drove him up the wall.

"Fine, never mind," Pete said, getting up from the couch to go into the kitchen and wash the dishes from the dinner they'd cooked together. Michael stared at the thing in the box with distaste.

They didn't speak much for the rest of the evening and Michael even avoided the awkward moment that might come from sleeping in Pete's bed by staying on the couch. He had to get up in the morning to catch the bus and Pete wouldn't be there anyway since he had to get to class even earlier.

Micheal pretended to sleep when Pete came into the living room, heading for the front door before he paused. Michael was usually a pretty heavy sleeper, but sometimes he just lay there with his eyes closed to think too. Listening intently, Michael heard the footsteps approach him and his dark curls were brushed back by gentle fingertips before lips met his forehead.

"I love you," Pete whispered and Michael's heart sunk to the pit of his stomach. He wanted to wake up and snatch Pete's lips, but instead he continued to feign sleep, his stubborn tendency overwhelming his logic. An hour later he awoke and got ready before heading for the bus stop.

As he dug for his cigarettes, he found a cold metal thing packed in the same pocket and sneered. Michael looked down into the pocket to find a small unopened box still wrapped in paper printed with glittering black stars. Sighing, Michael opened the box he thought he'd left behind at Pete's house, damn him. It was a variety of cartridges for the electronic cigarette and Michael's curiosity got the best of him when he caught sight of pina colada among classic tobacco, magnificent menthol and java jolt.

It wasn't as though Michael had to let Pete revel in his victory by telling the him he used the cigarette after all, so what was the harm. As he lit the thing and breathed in, a subtle fruit taste invaded his senses which was altogether rather pleasant. Afterward Michael still lit a cigarette in defiance.

After the bus ride, Michael dwelled on what Pete'd said and grew angry when he kind of craved that pleasant fruity taste again. He got into his bedroom and inhaled. Did he really smell bad? Michael couldn't tell, he'd always been around cigarette smoke, even when he was a kid since his mother was a smoker. He frowned and dug out his music collection from under his bed to organize another selection for a podcast. Michael couldn't care less about gaining a following for his podcast, it was just something to do and he enjoyed sharing his collection with a potential audience. Not to mention it was a great way for him to keep a level head and avoid dwelling on things.

But as he began to rifle through the CDs Michael noticed the slightly yellow tint of the plastic and looked around his room. The pages of his books had grown yellowed over the years from smoking in his room, and there was a light film over surfaces that hadn't been dusted or touched in a while. Michael frowned, that film was a little gross since he finally noticed it and again he thought of the electronic cigarette.

Pulling it from his pocket, Michael dug the classic tobacco from his bag and loaded the cartridge into the metal apparatus. The electronic cigarette did at least look kind of neat, more impressive than a cigarette since it more resembled a pipe but didn't have the inconvenient quality of the tobacco being able to fall out of it.

There had to be more of a reason than Michael's smell for Pete to insist that he stop smoking. After all, it wasn't as if it was such a huge request, even if Michael had been smoking since his early teens since Pete had gone to the lengths of finding him an alternative. Did he really intend to break things off between them because he was too stubborn to cave into Pete's request?

Michael flopped back onto the floor and lay there, staring at the ceiling while he smoked the electronic cigarette and reminisced about the amazing night they'd had two days before. His free hand mindlessly touched the piercing on his chest through his cotton shirt. Frankly he'd much rather have a repeat experience with Pete than to worry about his desire for a smoke, and Michael got up.

He spent the following few days cleaning that yellow tint from everything in his room. Though he didn't get online to talk to Pete for a few days, when he did he sent a link to his new podcast and didn't bring up the cigarette at all. He'd let Pete be surprised the next time they were together. It might warrant a reward for Michael anyway, and he enjoyed thinking up what they could do for their next encounter.


End file.
